


If We Make it Home

by for_t2



Category: Black Lagoon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Bars and Pubs, Denial of Feelings, Drinking to Cope, F/F, Flowers, Home, Hotel Moscow - Freeform, Non-Graphic Violence, Roanapur, Russia, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29639562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_t2/pseuds/for_t2
Summary: If Balalaika was going to have Revy running around the city for a top secret job, the least she could do is not make it mean something
Relationships: Balalaika/Rebecca "Revy" Lee
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	If We Make it Home

“Fuck you.” Revy’s first words when entering a bar were usually more along the lines of the name of the strongest drink on the menu, but she had had a shitty life, and she was entitled to take it out on the idiots blocking the door every now and then.

“Fuck me?” The idiot in question laughed at her with a leer. “Don’t mind if you—”

He did mind when Revy’s boots slammed into his dick. “Get fucked.” It wasn’t her fault he couldn’t handle a little pain. And it wasn’t her fault she liked it. “Who’s next?” The idiot’s table buddies had barely had the chance to push their chairs away before she had her guns out.

Before they had their guns out.

After a few seconds that stretched out far longer than Revy’s interest did, the face-off stayed a face-off. “Whatever.” She tucked her guns back into her holsters. Nobody was shooting. “Losers.” It was no fun. It was a shame, really. She could use a few people to kill. She had had a very shitty life.

Not to mention she had spent an entire sweltering hot day chasing around people with much bigger guns than hers around the dirtiest parts of the city’s slums, and all for the sake of some tiny wooden case that she wasn’t even allowed to look at.

A very, very shitty life.

She didn’t bother to say anything as she tromped over to the bar counter. Just grunted and grabbed the almost full glass out of Balalaika’s annoyingly calm hand. Just chugged it all.

“You know, Two-Hands,” the Russian’s voice was even more annoyingly calm. It always was, which just made it even more annoying. “You should be more careful about who’s glass you steal.”

Revy almost threw the glass at her. “I deserve a fucking drink.” Especially not when it was a shitty drink in a cheap, shitty bar. She settled for slamming the glass back down in front of Balalaika (hard enough to make it crack a little). “And I definitely fucking deserve it more than you. Especially after today, you fucking piece of—”

Balalaika smirked, ever so lightly and ever still calmly. “My men have shot people for less.”

That managed to sober Revy up (and she didn’t want sobering up). She glanced back at the tables. Lots of drunkards and criminals (and a few very lot tourists) around them, but she didn’t see any of the Soviets she recognised. Which meant she was in trouble. It made a part of her shiver. The triads and the mafias, they were ruthless and they were sadistic, they had their killers and their professional killers, but Hotel Moscow was… efficient. Revy preferred the sadism. “Well, fuck you.”

Balalaika waved a couple new drinks over from the bartender. “I hope you have what I asked for.”

Of all the people in the bar, Balalaika must’ve been the only one who wouldn’t have tried to push back at Revy, and somehow that pushed Revy’s buttons worse than anything. “I mean it. Fuck you.” She downed the drink while Balalaika stayed silent, and made it about five seconds after finishing the second drink before she stopped giving a damn about playing her game. “Yes.”

“I hope it’s in good condition.”

“Of course it is.” Revy dug through her pockets to find the case. Still tiny and unscratched. Well, mostly. “I’m a professional.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Balalaika smirked again, a little more privately. A little more just for Revy. “It’s always a pleasure to watch you work.”

“Don’t tell me you were watching me!” Revy hated the way that tone of voice made something under her skin itch. How she wanted Balalaika to help make it burn. “You were there the whole fucking time, and you didn’t fucking help me? I had to go through literal fucking shit to get this fucking thing!”

Balalaika, as always, didn’t pay any attention to Revy’s ranting. Instead, she turned the case over in her hands, slowly and something close to reverently (if there was such a thing as reverent in Roanapur).

By the time Revy stopped to catch her breath, she needed another drink. “It better be worth it.”

“Your pay will be.” Balalaika’s expression didn’t change when she flipped open the latch. When she looked inside the case. “But as I thought, it’s a fake.”

“A fake?” Forget about a drink, Revy really needed to shoot someone. Preferably Russian. “You put me through that for a fucking fake?” It took Revy a second before she remembered her pay. “You’re paying me that much for a fucking fake?”

“It was a chance I had to take.” Balalaika sighed. Set the case back down on the counter and ordered new drinks. “I hope you like sunflower seeds.”

“Sunflower…” Revy grabbed the case. Peered inside. A single sunflower seed stared back at her. “It’s a…” A seed. Revy stared up at Balalaika. Stared at the seed. Back at Balalaika. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

“Not yet.” Balalaika chuckled, before repeating herself softly. “Not yet.”

Revy still didn’t quite get the joke. “It’s a seed. A fucking seed.” When Balalaika shrugged, she got it even less. “Why?”

“There was a rumour that someone had found the seed of a rare flower. An extinct flower.” For a second, Balalaika eyes looked somewhere far away. “It used to cover a valley in the Urals.”

Revy’s hopes of it being some type of bioweapon were quickly dashed. She groaned. “Don’t tell me this is more of your Soviet honour bullshit.”

“We may be killers, Revy,” the ice cubes in Balalaika’s glass clinked softly against the sides as she swirled it gently. “But we’re still allowed to get sentimental sometimes.”

Revy scoffed. “Next time, get sentimental about the idea of me fucking dying!” For a fucking seed.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Balalaika’s smirk returned. “I would.” After a short sip of her drink, she added. “You do mean something to me.”

That made Revy scoff even louder. “Don’t get sappy.”

“It wouldn’t do in our line of work, would it?” No, it fucking wouldn’t. “But even us killers need a home, don’t we? A place to belong?”

“Well, I belong here.” Revy let out her most unprofessional belch. “Right fucking here.”

“Hm.” Balalaika swirled her glass again. Lost herself in her thoughts for a minute. “One day we’ll get too old for this. We’ll have to retire.” She pushed the glass over to Revy. “Maybe that day, there’s a garden by the Volga… If we make it that far.”

Revy hated that small smile Balalaika gave her. Hated it in a way that shouldn’t’ve been possible. “Fuck off.”

Balalaika chuckled, unbothered and always professional as she got up from her stool. As she shrugged her uniform back on. But she still stopped before she walked away. Turned back one last time and lightly touched Revy’s arm. “Thank you for keeping this mission a secret.”

Revy had to shut her eyes. Didn't look back as Balalaika walked away. Of course she’d keep it a fucking secret. Getting sentimental was... It was far too hard.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing for this fandom, so constructive criticism is more than welcome!


End file.
